


Habits

by assassinslover



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-28
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 04:38:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assassinslover/pseuds/assassinslover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of Naomily based ficlets, one for each track of the album Habits by Neon Trees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 01: Sins of My Youth

**01\. Sins of My Youth**

_When I took down my defenses, for the first time there was something in me._  
Yeah, something in me, hot like a smoking gun, back when I was young.  
I've got these habits that I cannot break.

Naomi's changed. They all have, really; put through things no group of friends should've ever gone through. There's still some of her old self left, of course there is (it had all really just been a facade that she'd kept up anyway, which made her no different from Effy, or Katie), but, well, old habits die hard. It had taken Emily ages to get her even remotely comfortable with any sort of public affection, slightly less around their group of friends, because every one was used to them anyway and Naomi was fairly sure Effy had known they'd end up together for ages. It had taken even longer for her to admit that yes, she was gay. She was very, very gay and it hadn't been the alcohol or the drugs that made her kiss Emily at Pandora's birthday party, and it hadn't been the vodka that made her want to touch the redhead at the lake.

She can remember clearly the day she first saw Emily; the day all of this had started. She can remember how even in Katie's shadow, Emily had captivated Naomi more than the elder twin ever could and that thought had immediately terrified her. She can clearly remember every time she saw Emily after that (except for times when she was incredibly off her tits), and the taste of her lipgloss and the alcohol on her tongue during that drunken snog in middle school and how from that moment on, without realizing it, Emily had systematically broken down each and every wall Naomi had spent so much time building and fortifying until she was sure she was untouchable.

So she  _had_ fucked guys. It hadn't helped, obviously. She thought it would get better after the first time, with some faceless boy with brown hair and tan skin, but it hadn't.

(She'd gotten home with her makeup having run, making her look like an extremely bedraggled, extremely depressed clown and broken down when her mum had asked her what had happened.)

She didn't stop though, convinced that if she did it enough, it would start to feel right. Then she fucked, no, made love to Emily and realization had hit her smack in the face the next morning when she'd woken with her body curled protectively around the redhead's smaller frame.

And yeah, she's still sarcastic. She still loses herself in her own thoughts and needs Emily to kiss her until she's back in the present. Her and Katie still get along about as well as Naomi does with every other prick she's ever met, constantly taking jabs at each other that are a little more affectionate than they used to be (although only barely). She's still passionate. Still so passionate (about politics, about education, about general world affairs), but now there's something else, something that her passion for is greater than everything else combined. Emily.

Naomi stares down at the sleeping figure next to her and traces the shape of Emily's lips. She was stupid when she was younger, running away from this; from her. Emily smiles in her sleep, so Naomi kisses the small dimple that forms on her cheek. Stupid for pretending for so long that she was something she's not. She still gets the urge to run every now and then, when she feels overwhelmed by the depth of her love for Emily and the redhead's love and devotion and isn't sure that she can handle it all, but then Emily will do something adorable or just say, "I love you," or will kiss her sweetly and all of Naomi's fears will fly out the window. Sometimes she'll feel trapped by the easy life they've settled into, but then Emily will do something spontaneous and the feeling will vanish.

So, yeah, Naomi's changed (for the better, she hopes), and yeah, she still does things that annoy the fuck out of Katie, or on occasion frustrate Emily, but the one thing that will never, ever change, will be the love she has for her redheaded girlfriend.


	2. 02: Love and Affection

**02\. Love and Affection**

_I just don't understand why my love isn't good enough._

_I just don't understand why my love isn't good enough for you._

_I want you to show me love and affection._

Emily thinks it's ridiculous, really; she's just as good as anyone else, and certainly better than any guy (and why anyone would want someone with a cock is just  _beyond_  her comprehension, because they're well disgusting), especially fucking  _Cook_  of all people. How can Naomi think that  _he's_  better than she is? He's Cook, for fuck's sake; he's immature, he tries to fuck every girl he sees and all he wants to do is go out and get wasted every single night. She doesn't know how anyone in their group of friends can stand being around him, actually. But Emily's definitely better than him. So why isn't that enough? Why does Naomi always have to fucking shove her to the ground; reel her in only to block her off and throw her back into the abyss?

And then they'd made love by the lake and she'd gone and done whatever with Cook. Fucking  _Cook._

She'll stay. She'll always stay. She doesn't follow Naomi around like a lost puppy like she's more or less forced to do with Katie, but she's always watching. Which is kind of creepy now that she's actually thinking about it. But it's not her fault that Naomi's so stalkable.

Sometimes, Emily thinks she catches Naomi glancing at her out of the corner of her eye, but if she turns her head to meet the other girl's eyes, Naomi turns away again and Emily argues with herself over whether she imagined it all or not.

Naomi is frustrating, Emily concludes. She's frustrating and irritating and most of the time Emily feels like she's barking up entirely the wrong tree. But she knows Naomi wants her. She knows. She didn't miss the emotions flowing through the blonde's eyes like the floodgates that held them back had burst open.

She thinks about her at night as she's trying to sleep, or waiting up for Katie to text her so she'll go down and unlock the front door. She'll imagine waking up and getting ready and when she steps outside Naomi is waiting at the edge of the path up to the house with a smile on her face and they hold hands on their way to school and Naomi will kiss her and won't be afraid of what people think, and won't be using Emily as a kind of experiment. She'll think about various dates they'd go on; picnics in the park, romantic candlelight dinners, days on the town.

(Not all of her thoughts are that innocent of course.)

Emily saves those for when she knows Katie won't be coming home, or her sister is deep asleep on the other side of the room, and she'll slide her hand beneath the elastic of her knickers into the warm wetness that settles there when she stares at Naomi's neck for too long, or her eyes travel up the length of the blonde's legs to where they disappear under her skirt and she'll remember how soft the blonde's skin feels, and map out the hills and valleys and curves and planes of Naomi's body ( _her_  territory, no one else's; Naomi is hers in her dreams, even if she's not in reality) with her fingertips and palms and lips and tongue and teeth. And her body will shudder as Naomi's eyes (blue, so blue) appear in the darkness above her bed and she'll see the way Naomi's hair had fallen into her face as she'd kissed her way back up Emily's stomach that night at the lake, and she'll have to bite her lip to keep herself quiet.

She's good enough, she really is, and she wishes Naomi wasn't so inclined to run each time the redhead thinks they might be getting somewhere.


	3. 03: Animal

**03\. Animal**

_Here we go again, I feel the chemicals kickin' in._

_It's getting heavy and I wanna run and hide, I wanna run and hide._

_You do it every time, it's killing me now._

_But I won't be denied by you, the animal inside of you._

Fuck. Oh, fuck. Emily's lips are right there; they are right. Fucking. There. And they're getting closer. And the alcohol is rushing through her veins and her fingertips are buzzing from it and from the weed and... oh. Wow. Emily's lips are on hers and they're really soft. It feels amazing actually.

The alcohol had made her brash, made her confident. But now that she's started it, she's terrified. Now that Emily's lips are burning a wet trail down the side of her neck, the redhead's fingertips branding her skin, she doesn't know what to do. Emily seems too, though.

It's always like this when she's around Emily. The girl will touch her in one spot and she'll feel it through her entire body (even something as simple as Emily's fingers brushing across the back of her hand). It's only amplified when any part of Emily's body is pressed against her own and,

"Oh," Naomi mutters, surprised, because one minute Emily's gripping the back of her neck and holding their lips together and now she's suddenly on her back with Emily's hands pushing up her shirt and the flesh of their stomachs grazing and fuck. Emily's skin against hers is probably the most amazing sensation ever. The redhead's eyes are hooded and dark and her lips are parted and, wow, she looks gorgeous, especially with the shadows cast from their dinky little fire flickering across her pale skin, making it almost glow.  _Angel_ , is the first word that comes to mind, but then Emily is kissing her and she stops thinking.

Somehow, although she's normally clever and witty and sarcastic, Emily seems to be able to reduce her brain into a jumbled mess, unable to form even a single sensible thought, and cutting off all motor functions to her limbs (except to reach out to Emily and pull her that little bit closer 'til their bodies are flush together) as well as her ability to speak. It  _is_  better when there are drugs in her system, when the confidence that she doesn't have sober pushes it's way to the front of her mind.

Emily is kissing down her stomach and all coherent thought has officially left her mind (although it really had when her and Emily and jumped into the pond), but with the redhead's lips pressing heated kisses down her stomach she honestly cannot concentrate on anything else.

Oh.  _Oh._  Oh,  _fuck._ This is new. New and actually kind of fucking wonderful. Naomi's no virgin

(after Emily had kissed her in middle school she'd panicked and ended up losing it to some bloke at school who'd been trying to get in her knickers since puberty had kicked in and she'd actually gotten curves; it had been a couple days before her sixteenth birthday)

but no guy had ever bothered to go down on her. After a while she'd just given up on sex altogether; it was easier for her to get herself off than to put up with a boy's awkward fumbling and then she wouldn't have to deal with being sore for days afterward. But this. This was nice, and Emily hadn't even pulled her knickers down yet. It's a bit frustrating, so she squirms and Emily snaps out of whatever trance she was in and sets to work.

She moans and it takes her a few seconds to realize the sound came out of her mouth and she blushes, feeling more than hearing Emily's sharp intake of breath and the shaky exhale that follows. Her fingers scramble for purchase on the dirt around her, feeling it beneath her nails as she digs them into it while her stomach muscles tighten. It doesn't occur to her until after Emily is lazily kissing back up her stomach that she could've just tangled her hands in Emily's hair.

Emily's pressing lazy kisses to her collarbone and suddenly it's all too real. This isn't just a one night thing. It's not meaningless. Naomi feels something (something she's too scared to admit to herself, let alone anyone else) deep in her chest fighting to be free.

The redhead is slick against her thigh and it occurs to her that it would be rude to just leave the other girl hanging so she pulls Emily's lips to hers and rolls them over. Emily looks surprised, trying to read the emotion on her face. Emily's a bit like a cat, she thinks, as she trails a hand down the redhead's stomach and kisses her lazily (it can't be that hard, right? Emily said it was like touching yourself, just doing it to someone else; she can do that), with the way she stretches her whole body out and manages to make herself seem longer than she really is.

Her fingers stop just beneath the top of Emily's knickers. She doesn't know what to do now (well she does, sort of, but she's nervous and can't make her hand move). Emily notices and meets her eyes.

"You don't have to," the redhead says and her voice is lower and huskier than she's ever heard it and it makes the heat that's still in the pit of her stomach grow.

"I-that would-it's rude not to," she sputters. Emily's face falls. Wrong thing to say. "I mean, what I want to say is, I want to. Do this. I want to." Emily's breathing falters for a second and she reaches down to guide Naomi's hand. There's something incredibly sexy about that, actually. It feels kind of odd. Everything is the same; she knows what bit is where, but it's definitely not like touching herself.

She's never heard anyone make those kinds of noises before. Emily's quiet (she must have to be, since she shares a room with Katie), but the soft whimpers she makes turn Naomi on more than full on moans ever could. It's exhilarating watching how her fingers ( _her_  fingers) can make Emily come undone. It gives her the sense of control that she needs to feel safe. _She's_  making Emily feel this way,  _she's_  making the redhead's hips buck.  _She's_  making her brow furrow in a way that's as sexy as it is cute.

Naomi feels Emily's body tense and watches the muscles in her stomach and arms flex beneath her pale skin with wide eyes. Emily's kisses grow sloppy, her breath coming in frenzied pants against her lips. She wants to see, so she pulls back and Emily pulls her lower lip between her teeth as Naomi's fingers push her over the edge.

"Wow," Naomi mutters, pulling her hand away when Emily releases the vice-like grip she'd had on her wrist. She examines it, surprised Emily's nails didn't break the skin. She rolls away, retrieving her knickers from off the blanket and pulling them back on while Emily adjusted herself. The fire is dying. Wordlessly, Naomi pulls Emily's jumper over the girl's head and smiles at her. She's tired out now, and really just wants to sleep. She doesn't fight it when Emily curls up to her (partly because she needs the heat and partly because it feels right having the redhead's smaller body firmly tangled around her own) and slings an arm over her waist. Emily smiles against her neck.

She's not sure how things will be in the morning, but everything feels right right now, and that's good enough.


	4. 04: Your Surrender

**04\. Your Surrender**

_I got close to your skin while you were sleeping._

_I taste the salt on your hands._

_I reached out to touch you, the morning light disarms you._

_Why won't you let me in?_

Emily had woken up first as the sun began to rise because Naomi had rolled away from her and ended up taking the blankets with her and her legs were cold. Emily went to grab the blanket back to cover her exposed legs and curl up next to the blonde but stopped when she caught a glimpse of a beam of bright sunlight falling across Naomi's face. Emily had never seen her look so peaceful whilst awake. Her lips were parted slightly and her features relaxed, no trace of her trademark smirk anywhere in sight. Emily could've sworn that she was smiling in her sleep, but that couldn't be right. Naomi's head rolled towards her as she shifted slightly. It made Emily smile slightly. She reached up and pushed the blonde's hair out of her face, tucking it tenderly behind her ear.

She curled up against Naomi's side with her back to the blonde and her head on the inside of Naomi's bicep, the blanket and the other girl's warmth quickly lulling her back to sleep.

When Naomi rolled away from her again, and left her alone on the blanket to finish dressing and scramble up the dirty, leaf covered hillside to their bikes, she woke up again. It didn't matter what she said, obviously, because Naomi wasn't listening to her. Naomi was ignoring her pleas, although she noticed the blonde's step falter when Emily admitted that she wanted her.

She's still sat on the blanket with the last of the vodka down her throat and her final spliff being sparked as she watches her shadow grow then shorten and disappear as the sun rises to its peak. She's still there after it begins to set, casting orange shadows on the surface of the lake. Emily's got the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, but only because she can't stand being cold anymore. Her stomach growling tells her it's time to go home, so with her soul feeling as weighed down as a man walking the Green Mile she packs everything onto her bike and makes her way home.

"Where the  _fuck_  have you been?" Katie snaps the minute she steps in the door, blocking the stairs with her hands on her hips. "Mum's been driving me fucking nuts. You've been gone since fucking yesterday."

"Fuck off, Katie," Emily bites back, shoving past her sister to change her clothes. Katie stalks up the stairs behind her. Emily ignores her.

"Mum's going to fucking kill you," she continues as Emily strips and searches for a suitable outfit. Katie can just fuck right off. She's going out and she's getting fucked up and frankly, she doesn't care what her mother thinks.

She's hurt and confused and vodka and MDMA sounds like an amazing deal. She's fucking tired of Naomi blocking her out, shutting her emotions off, ignoring something that's so _so_ obvious. Emily's had fucking enough.

She tucks her mobile into her bra and pushes past Katie again, who rolls her eyes.

"Where the fuck are you going you stupid twat?" she demands.

"Out," Emily replies, her voice tight. Katie grabs her bag and hurries after her twin (Emily looks back and notices that Katie had been ready to go out anyway).

"Wait the fuck up then. Cook tipped me off earlier."

Emily follows after her as they walk to the corner of the street to wait for the taxi Katie had called to pick them up. She doesn't really care where she goes, just that she can get monumentally and forget that the previous night ever happened.


	5. 05: 1983

**05\. 1983**

_And you look so smooth; you better tell me the truth,_

_would you trade me up for someone cool?_

_I know you better than you do, so put out your cigarette and kiss me on the lips tonight._

Naomi tries to hide behind masks and walls and an Ice Queen facade, but Emily sees through it. She doesn't have the chance to do much but watch and silently take in information with Katie for a sister, so that's what she does.

She doesn't smoke (except spliff on occasion), but each time she sees Naomi propped against the rough bricks of a club wall or on the bleachers outside school she wishes she did. They're fifteen when Emily notices Naomi smoking for the first time. Katie had been dragging Emily along behind her and Emily saw Naomi off to the side with her ridiculous uniform hat sat on her school bag and her face screwed up as she tried hard to keep from coughing. Their eyes met briefly then Katie called to her and Emily'd scurried after.

Naomi is smoking again at the party, outside on the back porch, when Emily kisses her. She tastes like smoke and vodka and strawberry lipgloss and Emily has never encountered a more heavenly combination of flavors.

"Oh," Naomi mutters when they pull apart and she wets her lips with her tongue, brows furrowed. Emily watches in a daze, her lips still parted and tingling from the kiss. Naomi kisses her the second time, her hands (long fingers, soft palms, still holding her fag) cupping her face while Emily's fingers fist in the peroxide blonde hair at the nape of Naomi's neck. She pushes back against Naomi's lips, trying to meet the pressure the blonde is exerting. Then Katie finds them and the moment is ruined and they jump apart like opposing magnets, looking equal parts ashamed and embarrassed.

Emily spends her time around Naomi just watching since neither her nor Katie will let her do much else. She sees past the cold front the blonde puts up (has always put up, since halfway through primary school), how she feigns indifference when Katie will loudly announce to whatever entourage is trailing along behind her, "like, don't talk to that muff-muncher. She tried to snog my sister last week/last month/last term." But Emily can see it hurts; constantly ignoring Katie and Emily, reaffirming her sexuality (or attempting to) by making a big show of every boyfriend she gets (almost like Katie does, although for different reasons). Over time, Emily sees the number grow less and less until the last one leaves and Naomi doesn't bother to find another.

In college, most of the house parties turn into more clubbing since the alcohol is better and Effy knows someone just about everywhere. All Emily wants to do is stay home and read or study, but Katie practically forces her to get ready and all but drags her out of the house. Emily drinks to make the night more bearable.

When she spots Naomi ahead of her and Katie in the queue of the second club that night, she's drank enough that she's feeling bold and slips away from her sister (she's too busy eye-fucking some fit bloke to notice) and picks her way up to Naomi's side.

"Hi," she mutters nervously. Naomi examines her for a minute's lighting a cigarette as she does so. Emily watches a mix of fear and want flash through Naomi's eyes, feeling a thrill tingle down her spine.

"Hello," Naomi finally greets as she exhales. Emily smiles. Naomi slowly looks around them, then smiles back hesitantly. Emily is ecstatic when, after several shots, Naomi leads her out onto the dance floor, another cigarette between her lips. The blonde smokes too much, Emily thinks. She watches Naomi's graze drop to her mouth, pupils wide when she looks back up into Emily's eyes and bites down on the corner of her lip.

Emily thanks fuck for the alcohol coursing through her veins and plucks the fag out of Naomi's mouth, placing it between her lips and taking a drag. She doesn't know how she manages to avoid hacking up a lung, but she does and pulls Naomi's head down. When their lips meet, she exhales as slowly and evenly as she can manage. Naomi shudders beneath her hand and kisses her.

Emily knows the only reasons Naomi is kissing her is because of the alcohol and because the club is dark, but she knows what want looks like and even if Naomi doesn't want to admit it, Emily knows Naomi wants someone; knows she wants someone to want  _her_ and that deep down she wants that someone to be Emily. And Emily does want her and she'll wait, because she  _knows_  Naomi, she  _loves_  Naomi and she's too determined to give up.


	6. 06: Boys and Girls in School

**06\. Girls and Boys In School**

_I don't want you fading; acting like you hate me._

_It's just like all your paper cuts, they cut you in the coldest spots._

_Questions for questions, I've got a question:_

_would you ever dance with me like that?_

Naomi never dances. It takes an immense amount of alcohol and drugs to get her to even go  _on_  the dance floor instead of sulking in the corner like she usually does whenever she goes out clubbing (she tells herself she only goes because it's better than being at home with her mum asking her why she's not out and  _not_  because she knows Emily is going) or to whatever party Cook got them all into.

Emily, on the other hand, is the exact opposite, and a lot like her sister in that respect. Most of the time Katie's off trying to pull or looking like a total slag teasing all the boys she can find, though, which makes Naomi's nose wrinkle a bit in disgust, because, really. Emily, on the other hand dances for the sake of dancing and Naomi can't. Stop. Watching. Just the way her body moves is enough for her to become acutely aware of the ache building between her thighs. If Emily's had enough to drink, she dances a bit more like Katie, grinding against anyone who positioned themselves close to her. If she's taken pills, she dances like Effy; without a care in the world, her arms above her head and her eyes shut. When she's not totally off her tits, she still dances, sending Naomi glances filled with want and love (she refuses to acknowledge the way her heart skips and her stomach squirms, because just, no).

But this time, Naomi's had enough to drink that her body just sort of leads itself towards Emily, pushing past sweaty bodies and elbowing some lanky git in the ribs in her mad quest (this has happened before, but she's usually in control). She's a bit unsteady on her feet, but there's some twat pushing against Emily's arse and the pressure in her chest that starts as a sharp burn in her palm.

(Later she'll deny that she was jealous at all.)

Emily's body tenses when Naomi pushes the prick out of the way and takes his place. She doesn't think Emily's seen her, but obviously must know it's a girl since Naomi doesn't have a boner and actually has a pretty decent pair of tits. So she slips her hands onto Emily's hips and presses her face into Emily's hair. She smells like the club, and like sweat and a sickly sweet perfume that she doesn't think Emily would ever actually wear on her own. Emily reaches a hand up and latches it around the back of her neck (like Naomi has imagined her doing, at night when she's alone in her bed and stoned and horny) and her head falls back onto Naomi's shoulder. She chances a glance, but Emily's eyes are shut, her lips parted slightly and her hips swaying in time with Naomi's.

(She wonders how it's possible to be so turned on by Emily's ass pressing against her when there's no cock there.)

And Emily's neck is  _right there_  and dancing with her (well, grinding) is one thing, but she  _needs_  to feel Emily's skin beneath her lips so she tilts her head down and brushes her mouth just beneath the slight jut of Emily's jaw and Emily lets out a moan loud enough that she can hear it over the thudding of the bass that's threatening to blow her eardrums. It sends a shock of liquid want straight to Naomi's cunt. She responds with a moan of her own that she can't really keep from ripping out of her throat and latches her lips onto Emily's skin. She can taste the sweat that's gathered there.

"Naomi," Emily whispers, her voice deeper than Naomi's ever heard it before, even lower than it was at Panda's birthday party when they were in the bouncy castle and Naomi could see how her eyes grew dark when she clutched at Emily's shoulders. Naomi tugs on Emily's hips and the redhead spins around. Her eyes are black. Emily's tugging on her neck, fingers tangled around her hair, and yanking her head down. Then they're kissing, Emily's other hand cupping her jaw, then migrates down towards her hip, brushing past her tit on the way.

It's the way Emily's hand stills there for a second and how their simultaneous groans vibrate against her lips that bring Naomi crashing back down to Earth. They're in public, she realizes. It doesn't matter if that it's a club, because it's not completely dark and she knows that people are watching and she can't  _stand_  people watching because it's not any of their fucking business who she kisses but they'll judge her anyway and label her as something that she's not.

Emily's cries follow her out of the club and echo in her head all the way home, her mind still fuzzy and her knickers damp and her whole body burning.

(She doesn't want to think about what it means when she shoves her hand into her pants, propped against the front door in a pitch black house and has to bite into the flesh between her thumb and forefinger to keep herself from crying out, and comes thinking about cherry-red hair and dark, deep eyes.)


	7. 07: In the Next Room

**07\. In the Next Room**

_You play me like I am made of strings,_

_I'm a violin, a melody,_

_I want your lips to sing._

_If you only knew how hard it is to handle,_

_How bad I want a scandal._

There's always this pressure in her chest and stomach when she's around Emily. She hates it. She thinks that, maybe, it wouldn't matter so much if Emily was a boy. Then she thinks she wouldn't be feeling this way if Emily was a boy. This is larger than anything she's ever felt for anyone. Actually, she's  _never_  felt this for anyone.

She  _was_  twelve when she noticed Emily; first really noticed her. Of course, back then it was different than it is now. When she first saw her, walking a few steps behind her sister, her hair its natural brown with a bow keeping it out of her face, she was immediately smitten. Her stomach did this squirming... thing and her heart skipped a beat and it was all so cliché that she wanted to tear her own eyeballs out, even at that age. It's certainly not any better now.

There have been guys, boys she tried to date and boys she fucked to try and make those stupid, cliché feelings of being head over heels in fucking  _love_  with Emily go away. Her mum didn't even seem to  _notice_  she was so caught up with her charities and protests and opening their house to every homeless, rag-tag hippy twat off the street. It's not exactly any different now, except that in addition to the stomach flipping and heart skipping, there's this  _burning_  that spreads throughout her entire body and said pressure in her chest and stomach. The burning tells her to stay and touch and explore and the pressure rises up at the same time and she feels the fear creeping in from the back of her mind. So she runs, because if she gives into that desire, then what next?

She feels like it's crushing her, breaking each of her ribs and closing them so tightly around her lungs that she can't draw a proper breath. She can't turn out like her prick of a father. She wouldn't want to do to anyone what he did to her an her mum. She's really not as big of a cunt as she comes off as. She just can't... Doing something like that to Emily would be beyond horrible. Even she's not that low, despite the number of times she's pushed Emily around. It's justified, she thinks. How could one person have so much sway over how she feels? She hates it.

She can't stop it though; the  _wanting._  So strong that she can barely fucking contain it. And it's bad enough that she has to deal with Katie's constant teasing and labeling her as something she's not. Because she's  _not_  gay. She's not. It's an Emily thing, whatever this is, not a girl thing. It can't be a girl thing because then what Katie has said all these years would be true. All the names and managing to alienate every friend she could have possibly had.

But, the way Emily looks at her, and how her skin burns when they touch. It's so hard. She's never met anyone who knows just how to touch her in the smallest of ways to set her off. Emily just seems to know. It can't be intentional, because they've hardly ever had actual proper conversations (until college started, that is) and even that's mostly because Emily makes her so bloody  _nervous_  that she just can't think of something to say without sounding like a complete fucking bellend. And  _that_  is something that she does  _not_  want to have happen. She tries to not think about Emily at night (when she does wank, which isn't often, but sometimes she just can't fucking help it), to no avail and it's probably the fact that she can't not think about her that terrifies her the most.


	8. 08: Our War

**08\. Our War**

_The night that I leave town,_

_The walls that you helped take down,_

_Are only getting taller now._

_And I've even forgotten how to stand on my own two feet._

_I wanna say, "I'm on my own, I'm happier to be alone,"_

_But everything I do alone has every bit of you._

Emily leaves. Naomi saw it coming, if she's honest, but that doesn't stop the force of it from hitting her square in the chest like a collapsing building. When Emily said it, those five, heart-wrenching words, "I can't do this anymore", Naomi's breath left her in a loud, sudden,  _woosh_. She'd dropped the pan she was holding and all but fallen into a chair, rubbing her temple.

"I'm sorry," Emily said, and touched her cheek and given her a lingering kiss before picking up her bags, packed already, and leaving the house.

Naomi turns into a bit of a mess. All the work Emily had done, all the progress Naomi had made, it all was for nothing. The walls were back again, taller than ever, fortified with double barriers and spiked logs surrounding the outer rim, like a medieval fort. Emily had just reinforced all the reason Naomi had never let anyone in; people fucked you up. If they got inside, they had  _power_  and that was something that Naomi had never wanted to relinquish. Once someone had even the slightest bit of sway over your emotions, they could tear you apart whenever they wished, and that was exactly what Emily had done.

Even mundane tasks make her think of the redhead, because Emily managed to bring so much life and energy into everything that she did. She remembers once when Emily was washing the dishes how they started a fight with the soapy water that ended in making passionate love on the kitchen floor.

She collapses onto the floor, clutching a soapy rag, and cries until her throat is raw.

She's happy when the end of the summer rolls around and she can finally leave Bristol. She packs her bags and hops on a train to London, to Goldsmiths. Naomi doesn't know if Emily is there; she thinks that Emily may have gone to Mexico anyway, but London is large and UCL is a good distance away from Goldsmiths so the chance of them running into each other is slim.

It eases the pain a bit, being in a place that's not tainted with memories of her and Emily, or her and anyone, really, but it still feels like she's been left alone without a paddle. She doesn't make any friends, just throws herself into her work. There are parties on occasion, and a few drunken snogs on the couch, a few more faceless shags in club toilets, but she never opens up.

They run into each other once. It's unexpected and, really, it couldn't have happened at a worse time, because Naomi is finally,  _finally_  starting to heal and as soon as her and Emily lock eyes (her hair is darker; she looks thinner and her skin is slightly tanned), the stitches in her heart burst violently and she  _feels_ it all. She doesn't stick around long enough to let Emily reach her, because if she hears Emily's voice she'll just fall apart right there in the middle of the fucking street and she just can't let that happen. Emily's destroyed her once; she won't give her the power to do so again.


	9. 09: Helpless

**09\. Helpless**

_Leave me alone; I know I'm not making sense,_

_But I know I can't let you come any closer._

_It's my security; it's my self-defense._

_I keep on doing all this over and over._

When Naomi was five, her father left. Her mother had stroked her hair while she smoked a cigarette with red, tired eyes and told her that her father was just going away for a while, but he'd be back. Naomi had waited. For a year she asked every day, "When's Daddy coming home?" and every day Gina would answer, "Soon, love. Soon." Eventually, she stopped asking. It was when she was eight that it finally set in that her father wasn't  _ever_  coming home. He'd abandoned her, and now she'd abandoned Emily.

In the shower, she scrubs roughly at her skin, trying to erase Emily's touches, the prints left by her lips and tongue and fingers. She cries, because they're touches that have been branded into her skin and she can't escape them. No one's ever touched her the way Emily has; like they love her, like they want her, need her. Even though Emily obviously wasn't really sure what she was supposed to be doing, it was like nothing she'd ever felt before. Naomi scratches at her skin, digging her nails into it until her arms are covered in red lines.

Emily holds all the cards, she always has. Naomi fights and fights, but there's no way that she's going to win this game. She pushes and pulls and tries to keep Emily out, but the girl slips into the microscopic cracks in her armour and unravels the threads that hold her heart in place. It's a fear of abandonment that keeps her away, and a fear of suddenly not knowing who the hell she is after years of being sure of what she was going to do with her life.

And god, does it scare the living daylights out of her. Afraid that she'll say too much whenever they speak, that something, anything, will give away how she truly feels.

Gina was right. Emily was right. She does want someone. She does need someone. She sure as hell didn't think that would ever happen. It's the chat with her mum that opens her eyes. To an extent. It's time to be brave for once, she thinks. To take the first step. She was brave at the lake and for one, beautiful evening, she hadn't been afraid. It had just been her and Emily. Nothing else existed save the two of them.

Emily's hand fits nicely into hers. It's the beginning of something. Or maybe it's the end. Either way, something is happening, things are changing, and part of her really doesn't want to know what happens in the end.


	10. 10: Farther Down

**10\. Farther Down**

_We stood out in the cold_

_And your eyes, they ate my soul;_

_Begged me to come back down,_

_They begged me to come back down._

_Then, the ground ate my legs, so I looked up to the sky and said:_

" _I don't wanna go back down."_

_Oh, I've been so far down._

_Heaven, help me. Heaven, help me for the way I've been._

There's a deep-seated pain that Emily can feel with every fibre of her being. It weighs her limbs down, her soul as well; makes them both feel heavy as lead. There's bags under her eyes, dark rings shadowing them. There are bruises on her knuckles, but she can't remember what from, and scrapes on her knees to go with the holes in her tight.

(She does remember stumbling a lot last night; she must have fallen at some point.)

And Naomi just stares. She just. Fucking.  _Stares_ and Emily wants nothing more than to just smack her across the face so she'll stop looking at her with those dead fucking eyes like she's trying to make Emily feel sorry for her. But Emily won't. Naomi can go ahead and pity herself and feel sorry for herself even though she fucking shouldn't because  _she's_  the one who fucked it all up, so fuck her for thinking she has any right to feel anything like that, because Emily's fucking through wasting her time waiting for bloody  _Naomi_  to fix things.

(Someone touched her, she recalls dimly, but she thinks she pushed them away. This whole not remembering this is really starting to bug her. She  _hopes_  she pushed them away.)

They flit around each other; living but not living, not touching, not talking, not looking. At least Emily doesn't look. She can feel Naomi's gaze burning into the space between her shoulder blades, but each time she turns around to snap at the blonde, she's looking the other way, a permanent frown on her lips and a crease between her brows.

(She trips her way up the stairs, giggling when her toes catch the edge of one and she basically falls flat on her face. A light flicks on a few seconds later and she clamps her hand over her mouth as Naomi's head pops out from around the corner, her hair a complete mess.)

She makes a point of being loud. She slams doors, doesn't take care to avoid knocking over furniture or elbow things off of tables. Naomi always picks them up in the morning, or afternoon, or whenever the blonde wakes up. Or is it whenever Emily notices that she's put everything back? Because that varies depending on how late she got in the night before.

(Naomi sighs and reaches out to grab her upper arm, but she yanks it away abruptly with a sneer.

"Don't touch me," she slurs, pushing herself to her feet. Naomi recoils instantly, flinching. The pain in her eyes mirrors the sharp stab in the center of Emily's chest. "I'm fine." Naomi steps back. Emily knocks a lamp off a small table when she tries to yawn, stretch and walk at the same time. She hears Naomi sigh and the blonde stoops to pick it up.)

She doesn't sleep in their bed. She can't. Not after... even though Naomi had sworn on her mother's life that she had  _never_  taken Sop- _that girl_  further than the front room. There have been a couple times when she's either been totally off her tits or far beyond the point of exhaustion that she's ended up in their room out of habit, but when she wakes up Naomi is never there, but she's always undressed and neatly tucked in beneath the blankets.

(She's not so drunk tonight that she forgets that she doesn't want to share the same space as Naomi. She hogs the bathroom while she sloppily washes most of her make-up off and pushes past the blonde violently. She doesn't change, just curls up on the air mattress.)

Sometimes, Emily can hardly stand it; the constant dancing dangerously around each other, like some sort of fucked up waltz. She's being torn in so many different directions and it's just too fucking much. And now with her family being uprooted the only choices she has is to stay in this limbo with Naomi or put up with living in a fucking caravan and she honestly can't tell which is less appealing.

(Later, when she's half asleep, she hears Naomi open the door and feels the blonde smooth her hair back and press a gentle kiss to her forehead with a muttered "I love you." Emily's body gravitates towards Naomi, even as her mind tries to make her mouth work to tell the blonde to fuck off. She holds onto Naomi's arm, fingernails digging harshly into the blonde's skin and kisses her without an ounce of gentleness.)

She awakes in the morning with a splitting headache, somehow having ended up in a too-big t-shirt that smells too familiar and greedily devours the tablets and water left next to her on the floor. When she wanders downstairs to find some orange juice and have a piece of toast with jam, Naomi's already laid everything out for her. Emily winces when she sees the bruises on the blonde's shoulders and lips and bites the inside of her cheek. She can't rely on Naomi to fix this. It needs both of them.


End file.
